#try something else then

[savageleewriting]

Connections (Un)Made

I am so much more than a string of words linked together by a common thought. 

And yet, this is all I have to offer you, here, now, today.

We're sharping a space that isn't a space. One of us is only taking up two-dimensions in a three-dimensional construct of everything that exists. We phase through like a shadow stepping softly across a page.

I'm sort of busy, and sort of lost, and sort of trying to find myself through looking at others. I'm letting their emotions and their insights trickle across my outlooks. I'm holding my breath until the air turns as blue as the sky.

Maybe we can all fly, but that doesn't make us birds.

Rather we can't be seen, and that makes us blurs. 

Little spots turning into ink blots of understanding and loose affiliations of hardcore thought patterns. 

Here we are. 

Were.

Still. 

[savageleewriting]

I Can Still See You There

You could probably incriminate me if you wanted to. 

You could get your fingerprints all over my stuff. You could leave traces of yourself on my walls and windows. Your scents lingering in the air long after you'd left. 

We could fall into a rhythm. That's almost better than falling in love. We could learn to reverberate with each other. We could play off each other like musical instruments making a song out of still air. 

I might have deep thoughts, but you could have deep waters, like so deep we'd have for sure drowned if we hadn't learned to grow gills and fly. 

You could probably ruin me if you wanted, but you don't seem like the type to get blood on their hands. I feel like you'd like to just open yourself up to some sacred, perfect moment, and then surrender to a force larger than yourself. 

Ha, wouldn't we all? 

But instead, we sit in stationary homes made of crude rock and glass.

And we wait. 

[savageleewriting]

Side-Effects Include: Confusion

I'm sick of this eye-patch. I'm sick of taking medication; hormonal steroids that get caught in my system and leave me feeling confused and frustrated.

I'm sick of getting eye-strain from not blinking, and letting in too much light. 

I haven't shaved in over a week; this is the longest my facial hair has ever been, aside from when I was 21 and had a dumb little beard under my chin. I'm not shaving because I don't have to, I don't want to... I don't want to look at my face in the mirror. 

I'm sick of me, of being in doors. I'm sick of being sick. I'm sick of feeling like there's bubblegum caught in the left side of my mouth. I'm sick of feeling like I can't see right, I'm sick of being tired from looking at screens. 

I'm sick of tasting my tears rolling uncontrollably down the left side of my face. 

[savageleewriting]

Come Here, Because I Won't

Wake up early, go out stomping. Go out wearing cool morning air, and let the birds form a little cloak about your persona. Be seen as the background coming to life, off in the distance. Nah, they'll never know what to make of you - you're not a character, you're just characteristic of something interesting that's about to happen.

You're Agent #!, the bastard/bitch with an extra brain and too many words for one clever mouth to spit out all day. You got nothing but an urge to make things better and hands capable of changing all matter into something else.

You're out today to do your most sacred job, replacing everything you can find with counter-clockwise duplicates of everything you might imagine. You sniffle, startled, at the quiet little people that populate this planet -  they seem more like shrubberies than actual peoples - the seem quite like sad little shadows, not the proud people you were promised to get to breed with and feed upon, when they brought you down here from your kingdom in the clouds.

You make me laugh like nothing else does somedays. And other days you fucking kill me where I stand. You're a cold hard piece of work, you are. Nasty little thing.

Guess that's what I'm always so fucking attracted to, huh? 

[savageleewriting]

NeverLikedYou/AlwaysWantedSomebody

I don't know that anybody is as capable of irritating/failing me as much as myself. 

Some days I wake up feeling like I'm going to chop that fucker into a bunch of suitcase-sized pieces and drop him into the deep of the ocean. Some days I feel like the only thing that's going to cure me is a lover to set my heart on fire.

Just reach right inside, and set the little fucker alight. Pour gasoline into my open wounds so it flows through my veins. Stick matches under my skin so they'll ignite me from the inside out. 

I wish she'd lay with me, lie to me; I wish she'd just kill me off or set me free. 

I wish a lot of things, because it's easier than taking action.

[savageleewriting]

Along With Her, The Long Way

I was a highway driving spaceman. I exhaled smoke where others sucked down fresh air, and I saw sparks and shining things dancing, where others saw only mundane deaths and cold places to sit. 

She reached into me, under my layers of clothing and metaphor, and she went in search of the real me. 

Me, I've got skin like an insect's armour. I've got skin that fits me like somebody else's mask. I've got skin that melts in your mouth and grows hard in your hand. I've got skin the shade of something slippery and I've got those things you said still stuck in my head. 

She's layers of imagery placed upon me. She's a bunch of audio tracks redubbed and played back atop each other. I could watch her, atop of herself, for hours. I'd love to see her pull herself down, back down to earth, back to bed. 

I watch her. I make her watch me, us, the whole thing that's there to be watched. 

[savageleewriting]

She Takes A Bite, She Takes It All

If I got to choose between being liked and being feared, I'd occasionally choose to be feared, just 'cause it's kind a fun to feel from time to time. It's very different from love or respect, but it's still a valid way of getting from one day to another. 

"I bet he's a lot more charming when he wants to fuck you." Me, I seem to be always trying to fuck somebody, so I'm always charming. It's my goddamn curse. I wear it like a badge of honour, just daring anybody else to challenge me to take it off.

She's love to see me take it all off, but she doesn't totally know what she's actually asking to deal with. 

Me, I'm nothing dangerous, not even when I'm bored. A little destructive, a little pushy. But there's worse than me, and they're a bunch of boring cunts.